


Who You Really Are

by KendylGirl



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (though subtle), M/M, POV Timothée Chalamet, Protective Siblings, Self-Doubt, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 16:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20678132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendylGirl/pseuds/KendylGirl
Summary: Pauline confronts her brother about his recent public displays.





	Who You Really Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LivefromG25](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivefromG25/gifts).

> If you are familiar with the wit and wisdom of LivefromG25, then you can understand why she inspires all Pauline content, and in recent days, we have had more of a need for both of them than ever before.
> 
> And even with the sound of the ocean waves nearby, Willowbrooke still comes through for me (a.k.a., How To Be the Best Beta in Creation). She is a wonder, plain and simple.
> 
> The reference in the story to self-harm is a passing one and does not involve extremes; however, I wanted to be sure to mention it in case you are sensitive to that topic.

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Tim?”

That’s the last question she asks me before we get to the restaurant.I roll my eyes.She’s so melodramatic.“Sure, Paulie, whatever you say.”That’s when she rounds on me, backs me into the shop’s window, thumps me against the glass with nothing more than the flint in her eyes and the brittle line of her lips.“Hey!What the—“

“Don’t you _dare_ talk at me like I’m one of your _entourage_.”She barely speaks above a whisper, and for a long moment we just stare at one another, not even a breath between us, before she turns away and goes through the door, jingling the little bells that rest against its hinges.

I pull my hat down further and shove the sunglasses higher on my nose through a slick of sweat, wait for my blush to cool before I follow.I’m not scared of her.I’m not.Hell, I’ve made smooth turns around red carpets in cities all over the world, cameras flashing as their shutters whisper like locust wings, fans screaming for a moment of my attention.That is hard._That_ is pressure.I can handle my sister.Who the fuck does she think she is?

I open the door softly so the bells scarcely move, slip in between a maze of chairs and head toward her small booth in the back.I think I’ve been artful, turned through the chaos with satin expertise, but I barely get halfway before my toe catches the corner of a woman’s purse strap that bulges out from where she’s plunked it at her feet, and I drag it, knock the chair opposite her askew, bobble her water on the tabletop.I hear her gasp and look up at me sharply, so I mumble an apology and keep moving.The arrow of “jerk” bounces off my shoulders and falls dead to the floor.

I slip into the bench opposite her, and we quickly order some coffee and toast from a waitress who never looks up from her pad.When she’s gone, I exhale slowly.“Oh, thank God, I was afraid she’d know who I am.”

“How could she?Do _you_ even know who you are?”Dry as tinder, just as combustible.

I smirk.“Cute.”

“I was being serious.”Suddenly, she surges up, whacks my hat off with the back of her hand, and snatches the glasses right off my face.“Can we _not_ with this?You look like a damn serial killer in this stupid costume.”

I sneer at her and throw myself against the wall.I kick my hat onto the floor when I fling my legs up on the vinyl and stretch them flat to the length of the bench.“Get off it, Paulie.All I’m asking for is a modicum of privacy.Is that so heinous?”

“Privacy?_Privacy?_”She says the word slowly, spaces it out into syllables.“Well, it’s amazing how much of that you can have when you don’t phone the paps before you go out.”

“_I’m_ not doing that.”

“Semantics, Timmy.Don’t insult me.”

I cross my arms.“It’s not that big of a deal, all right?It’s just business.I’m doing what I need to do, and that’s all there is to it.”

She grips the table with both hands.“Is that what you think?Is that what you _really_ think?”Her fingers whiten as she angles over them.“You look like a tabloid whore, Timmy.Is that what you need—a straight shot to a reboot of _Jersey Shore_?Because that’s what you got.I mean, have you really thought about this long term?The damage done to your reputation could be—“

I want to scream.Why does she always do this to me?Why does she always make me feel like I’m wrong no matter what I do?“Damage?You’re not—people eat this stuff up, Pauline.People love a happy Hollywood couple!”I fling my arms over my head, flit my hands back and forth in her face.Yeah, it’s a party now.

“You think you look _happy _in those pictures?”

I deliberately poke my fingers against my mouth and pull it up on both sides, stare over my puffed cheeks with dead eyes.“All ya gotta do is smile.”I let it fall.“The columns do the rest with Nicole’s talking points.”I shrug and take a drink of my water.

The waitress brings our food, places the plates and saucers without comment.

Pauline hasn’t moved.She’s still staring at me.I sigh, take a bite of toast and grimace.“Is this rye?Tastes weird.”

“Guess you’re used to bagels.”

I throw the crust down and shove the plate at her.“Fuck off, Pauline.”

She clenches her hands together and closes her eyes.She’s centering.I’ve seen her do it a million times, refocusing her tension and visualizing it bleed from her neck to her elbows to her hands until it drips out the tips of her fingers.I can practically hear her counting down the seconds between each breath.

“Look, Tim, here’s what I know.”Her tone is subdued, like an announcer at a golf tournament.“I know you’re the smartest guy I’ve ever met…even if you let me swindle your allowance from you when you were seven by convincing you our kitchen was a café and you had to pay to eat breakfast there.”Her voice warms around that, the small smile that passes her lips like a cigarette burn to my throat.“And I also know that you are the sweetest, kindest person I’ve ever met because you forgave me.”She finally looks up at me, and I wish she hadn’t.Her eyes are haunted, and it’s too much, so I run, turn my eyes down to follow my thumb as it runs lines along the edge of the table.“You…you’re so good, Tim, _so_ good at what you do that you nearly won an Academy Award right out of the gate because of your talent.But you won over the audience because of _you_.Your softness and your introspection and your honesty.Do you know how _rare_ that is, how precious?”

“Oh._Precious_.Great.That’s what every guy dreams of being.”

Her voice is thin.“It should be!People are _starving_ out there, Tim, for something—_anything_—that’s _real_.”Her hands have unwound, fingers outstretched like she’s pleading, like she’s clawing at a cage I cannot see.“Just one genuine person who is who he is without apology or regret.Someone who can laugh at himself one minute and offer up spontaneous meta on his life and the cosmos the next.Someone who has a hope of changing the paradigm for _all_ of us!”

“Right.Sure.No pressure there.”

“Stop it!That wasn’t an _expectation_, it was a consequence!That’s what you made _possible_ just by being _you_!”Her hands drop down to the seat on either side of her.“And then you gave up on it, just gave up on showing people who you really are and decided to—“

“No, forget it.I know how this routine goes.Brian’s said it to me a thousand times:we believe the narrative we’re fed. It's that simple.”

“What does—what do you mean?”

“I _mean_ you can be whatever you want.People will believe whatever I choose to show them, so what does it matter?”

“Of course it _matters_!You don’t just try on personalities like they’re coats and shed them when the weather changes.That’s not what real people do.That’s what _assholes_ do, Tim.”

“No, that’s what smart people do.”

“Being a fraud doesn’t make you smart.”

“Yeah, it does, Paulie!Yeah, it really _does_.People believe what they want to believe all the time.They see what they want to see, no matter who I am.If I can sell _this_, then I’m in control.I’m someone who can love; it’s not that far of a leap to become someone who _is_ loved, someone they _want _to love.Someone that the world can see as a hero, not some piddly-shit dreamer who gets stomped on, which is what I’d let myself become.No one pays to see _that_ guy!”

“Lots of people pay to see that guy—_lots_ of them!They pay to see the guy who’s talented and interesting and _real_, not the guy who runs around like a caveman without a jockstrap._That_ guy is an idiot.That guy is _boring_.”

My lips ripple.I can’t help myself.“A caveman never would have worn a jockstrap.”

“Who gives a shit—he’s still a tool!”

I blink at her, and my smile evaporates.“Is he fey?”

Her face pales.“What?”

“You heard me.Is that guy fey?Is he ‘pretty’?_Ambiguous_?”

“Timmy…”

I hold up my hand and cut her off.I have no idea what my face is telling her, but for reasons I can’t explain, I suddenly feel like crying, and I would rather swallow my tongue than show that degree of weakness right now.“_Answer the fucking question_.”

I see her lip tremble, and I hate myself more, burn with it like I did when I was little, when it would bubble in my chest like magma, and I couldn’t get relief from it until I found a way to distract myself, refocus the pain with the blows of my own fist until a gorgeous purple bruise bloomed on my thigh.

“You think I don’t know what those words signify for me and my career?They’re a death sentence.And I have been stuck in some kind of backwater of small films, and I’m drowning in it.”

“So now _Call Me By Your Name_ is ‘backwater’?” 

“Give it a rest, you know what I mean!I can’t afford to sit back and hope because all hope breeds is disappointment, and I have worked too hard.The longer I wait, the less likely it is that anyone will ever want me for other parts._Bigger_ parts.”

“And how do you know that?”

I flick my eyes at her and exhale hard, drop my legs to the floor with a clunk, slouch against the cushion until my chin nearly touches my chest.“Because no one has.”

“That’s not true, Tim!What about _Dune_?That’s slated to be a series, isn’t it?”

“_Dune_ could tank.”I flick at breadcrumbs in front of me.“Then what?”

She groans, “How can you think like that?You’ve been so successful already—so many accolades and glowing reviews.Why can’t you see it?You have decades ahead of you as an actor.What did you think was supposed to have happened by now, anyway?What exactly do you think you’re missing out on?”

I sneer at her.“What, a handful of small roles and independent films is all I’m supposed to get?So what.That won’t last.No one cares about those after a year or two.No one remembers them at all.”

“People _do_ remember you.”

“That’s not what I said!”

“That’s what you meant.”Her head shakes vaguely.“But how can you be an actor when you refuse to let yourself feel anything for real?What emotions are you drawing on when the well is empty?”

I lift my eyes to her without raising my face.“I can drill anywhere I want.If one well’s empty, I’ll find water somewhere else.”

The words gel between us, and her face contorts with something I have never seen from her before.I think it’s disgust.“No, you won’t, Tim. You’ll die of thirst.”

I open my mouth to snap back.I don’t have anything to say.I feel empty, and I suddenly realize how long it has been since I felt happy or satisfied.Since I felt anything.I’ve pushed and pushed and pushed, months of it, faster every day, no looking back.Now, I’m at the edge of the cliff, and no one’s going to save me when I fall over the edge in a perfect swan dive into rocks and dirt, like failure is all I’ve really wanted out of this from the beginning.Shattered skull, broken bones. 

She covers her face with her hands, pushes hard into her eye sockets, rubs them viciously.A small voice filters through the barrier.“I miss my brother.”A sniff.“Promise me you’ll tell him that if you ever see him again.”

I want to vomit.

She starts to slide out of the booth.She’s leaving.

She’s leaving me.

“Don’t go.”It’s really just a breath, but she freezes.“I…I want…um…”I see the drips of water on the table, one after the other, an expanding pool of me that is colorless and shapeless.“I…I…”I hear a swish as she stands, and my vision blurs completely, so I shut my eyes, bite my lip hard so the sob that scratches my throat stays inside with me where it’s dark.

Then, my seat dips, and I feel arms come around my shoulders.My strings snap, and I fall against her, fold into her like I always have, like I did the entire first week of sixth grade when I’d get home from school with a rip in my shirt or a cut on my cheek, or when I was a freshman and failed my Geometry test for the third time, or when a string of my senior auditions turned to shit. 

So I don’t know why this feels new.There’s never been a time that Pauline hasn’t saved me from the gators that have tried to eat me.I guess this is no different.She’s always held me up against myself; but now she has to hold me up against the world.

And I hear her whispering in my ear.“Shh, it’s all right, Timmy, it’s all right.We’ll make everything all right.”

I believe her.She can fix anything.It’s her magic, her sorcery.“How?How do I do that?”My forehead presses into her shoulder.“I’ve acted like a complete douche._On camera_.I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”

“No.”A napkin brushes my cheek and the underside of my nose.“Nothing’s ruined.I promise you.Nothing.”

I sit back and look at her, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.“What do I do?”

“The cure for painful fantasy is always a better reality, Timmy.”

“It’s just…well, Brian’s gonna kill me.”

Her nostrils flare.“No.He’s not.”Her lips quirk.“That…would be a grave error on his part, little bro.”She aims for levity, but her eyes are pure steel.

I huff.“Yeah?” 

Her hands fall on my shoulders, and she gives me a little shake.“No one messes with you, got it?”She brushes a stray tear automatically, and I love her even more.“He works for you, Tim, not the other way around.They _all _work for you, and none of them get to dictate your life for you, so no more of this idiocy.If they try, if _anyone_ tries to intimidate you or manipulate you, they are _out_.”

“But who will want to rep for me if—“

“Literally _everyone else_ in the business.”Her voice has that certainty back in it, that settled determination that has always been at her core and I have envied every day of my life.“Timothée Chalamet is the kind of client that these guys fucking _dream_ about, so let them court you.Let them _beg_ you.Then you can decide what you actually want to do.”And as she says those last five words, she pokes her index finger into my chest, right above my heart.“Sound good?”

I look at her carefully, see the dark circles that form under her eyes when she’s sick or worried, the split ends of her hair, her peeling lips.She’s paid for all of this, too.“Thanks, P.”

Her eyebrows dip.“For what?”

“For…for…”I don’t even know what the words are, the ones that fit who she is, what she’s been to me through it all.My eyes flick between hers, and I squeeze her hand.

She squeezes back.“You’re welcome.”

Out on the street, we turn south, against the wind.

“So Brian’s going to—“

“Nope.”

I glance at her uncertainly.

“Not right now.”She snags my shades and slips them onto her face.“Call him.”

“But you said—“

“Forget Brian.Call _him_.”

My shoulders droop.“Oh.”

She elbows me.

“But, P, I don’t think…well, he’s probably too…”I’m scared.I can’t even bear to think of it.I’m so scared he won’t even pick up the phone.

“He’ll answer, Timo.”

I whip my head around.“Shit, how do you _do_ that?”

She laughs.Throws her head back and laughs hard.I haven’t heard that in a while.

“Think he hates me?”

“No.”

“What if he does?”

“He doesn’t.”

“He should.”

“Yep, he should.”

“Paulie!”

She snorts softly.“He _misses_ you, _crétin_.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Of course he does.”

“He’s had enough to deal with…you know, all of the _arrangements_ with Liz and stuff…”

“Seems like now is when he’d need you most, then.”

I shove my hands into my pockets and swallow hard.“I miss him, too.”

“So call him.”

We’re silent for three blocks.We stop at an intersection and wait for the light to change.

It does.

Fuck it all, I might as well just say it.“I’m in love with him, P.”

She slips her arm through the crook of my elbow.“You always have been.”

“You think that he, that maybe…”Why bother to dream?“No, never mind.”

“Yes.”

“Huh?”

“Yes, he does.”

I bite my lip, let my heart throb.

“Yes, Tim.He really does, and you know it.”

I finally look at her face.She’s watching me, a slow smile spreading from her lips to her eyes.I slide my phone out, start clicking at the screen.“Hey, will you tell Mom I won’t be around for lunch tomorrow.”

“Why?What’re you gonna do?”

I raise the device to my ear.“I’m kinda hoping…well, I think I’ll have a plane to catch.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm woefully behind on replying to your comments on previous works, but that is merely due to my obsessive scribbling down of ideas as they come to me for fear that they will leave me unrealized. PLEASE do not mistake my plate spinning and poor time management for a lack of adoration for every single one of you; you, your observations, and your kind words really do keep me going through the leanest of times!
> 
> Next task is to finish chapter two of "I Wanted It to Be You" and "Lips in Sync"; I pray you're willing to hang in there with me!
> 
> As always, I beg you to let me know what you think! 😬


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